


A Few Days

by Processpending



Series: What Time Brings [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Rubs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geraskier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, chubby jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Processpending/pseuds/Processpending
Summary: Geralt had taken it upon himself to take Jaskier to dinner every night for his remaining days at the Academy, somehow managing to find ones who’s portions and richness grew. But after spending the day nibbling the treats his students bring to their favorite professor, Jaksier's more than a little full and Geralt's comments aren't helping matters.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: What Time Brings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712416
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	A Few Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jmjd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmjd/gifts).



> Who said: I can imagine one night Geralt getting a little overenthusiastic and it resulting in a very upset tum for poor Jask.

Geralt admires the ponderous sway of Jaskier’s belly, his hands clutching the bowed sides, seeking relief from the truly remarkable amount he’d eaten tonight, his cheeks were still flush, from fullness or the walk back to Jaskier’s room Geralt wasn’t sure. He slips his arm around Jaskier’s waist, hand settling on the plush hip his pants can’t contain, earning a dazed smile from Jaskier who leans into his touch.

Jaskier pauses at the bottom of the steps, eyeing them as though their very existence is a personal affront. Geralt hasn’t missed Jaskier’s hand creeping to rub at the small of his back and takes this opportunity to work his thumbs into the knotted muscle.

“ _Oh_.” Jaskier’s hand scrabbles for the balustrade as his knees go weak at the relief. Jaskier only pulls away when he knows if he stands there any longer he’s no hope of making it up the stairs and it really wouldn’t be becoming to be found sleeping in the foyer, doublet split open and chemise riding up. 

Jaskier pulls himself up the stairs more than climbing them, one white-knuckled hand clenching the banister while the other supports his belly, Geralt a step behind him should he lose his balance. When Jaskier finally lays eyes on the object of his dreams he nearly doesn’t make it the final few steps, collapsing heavily into bed his moan of relief is lost in the groan of protest from the bed frame. 

Jaskier knows he’s a sight, cheeks flushed and panting as he clutches his belly, the glut inside protesting his careless drop into bed as he wills the nausea that swims through him to abate. He feels the bed dip as Geralt perches next to him and he waits for Geralt to rub his belly, something the Witcher does every chance he gets but particularly after stuffing Jaskier. 

“Need me to call a midwife?” Blue eyes snap open at the question, muddled mind unable to correct whatever he’s misheard. 

“What?” The word is breathy but there’s such pressure on Jaskier’s lungs it’s not his fault, he knows he’ll be lucky if he can sing anything lower than falsetto tomorrow in class.

“Sounds like your laboring.” Geralt’s hand finds his belly then, silently filling in the other half of the statement, _You look like it too._ Jaskier’s eyes burn, he knows Geralt’s only kidding, or at least he wants to know, but he’s aching and full and it just _hurts_. 

With effort and less grace than Jaskier would like he turns on his side away from Geralt, trying to curl his legs to his chest, he succeeds only in kneeing his tender belly. Geralt frowns at Jaskier’s pout, rising he undresses, never looking away from his bard. 

It’s the smell of salt filling the small room, the slightest shivering of Jaskier’s shoulders that he tries to mask by rubbing his stomach and Geralt understands Jaskier wasn’t pouting, he was crying. 

Geralt eases himself onto the bed behind Jaskier, knowing how full he is and not wanting to hurt him anymore. He presses his front along Jaskier’s back, feeling his body stiffen and jerk as he struggles to scoot forward, thinking Geralt needed more room. 

Resting his hand on the side of Jaskier’s belly, Geralt rubs small circles but Jaskier doesn’t relax into the touch, “I’m sorry Jask.” The silence that follows serves only to stoke Geralt’s fear that he’d finally pushed too far, lost the one good thing Destiny seen to grace him with. 

“It hurts.” Jaskier murmurs. Geralt doesn’t know if he’s referring to what he’s said or his stomach or both but he knows how to fix the latter and will work on the former. Jaskier is still fully clothed which makes the whole thing a little more difficult, but the ill fitting clothes means his chemise is already riding up and Geralt easily slips his hand under, rubbing in broader circles. 

Geralt’s surprise quickly turns to concern and understanding when Jaskier’s entire belly feels harder than a rock. It wasn’t unusual for his upper belly to be tight after a large meal, but tonight Geralt had gotten a little carried away and even Jaskier’s underbelly is tight to the touch. 

Geralt keeps his touch light, frowning when he feels cramps ripple through Jaskier’s stomach, the soft whimper he can’t quite contain. Jaskier tries to bite back the noise of protest that slips out when he feels Geralt rise, fearing his Witcher was disgusted by him but familiar calloused hands are urging him to turn over and sit up.

Geralt swipes the tear tracks from Jaskier’s eyes, the beautiful blues red rimmed and watery and it’s all from his careless words. Pressing a kiss to once sweet lips, now salty with tears, Geralt slips his doublet off, another kiss and his chemise joins it on the floor. Jaskier’s boots come next, Geralt pressing a kiss to his belly for each one, urging Jaskier back on his elbows he works his pants off, Jaskier struggling to see Geralt over the pale dome of his stomach. 

Geralt stays on his knees, gently rubbing the sides of Jaskier’s belly, pressing kisses to the growing number of stretchmarks. Pushing to his feet, Geralt gestures for Jaskier to lay down once more, “On your side.” The movements are slow, his stomach cramping painfully at one point arrests his movement but Geralt’s there, soothing away the spasm that’s tightened around his belly like a vice. 

The bed is cold without Geralt but Jaskier doesn’t dare try to turn over and see what he's doing, instead he curls around his aching stomach and wills him to hurry. Geralt finally does rejoin him, pressing himself flush against his back once more, “Straighten for me, just for a moment.” There’s a gentle pressure on his knees and Jaskier uncurls, sighing at the warmth Geralt presses to the underside of his belly, knees coming back up to hold the water filled skin in place. 

Geralt presses kisses behind Jaskier’s ear and down his neck as his hand resumes his gentle ministrations, pressure light on the still protesting stomach as it struggles to digest the rich food it’d been overfilled with. 

“I’m sorry, Jask.” Geralt murmurs, the words too small to hold all that he wishes he could undo.

Jaskier sighs, his eyes heavy as the pain recedes under Geralt’s care, his over hot body pressed against him reassuring and calming. “Maybe only one pie next time.” Jaskier murmurs, voice slurred as sleep pulls at him. Geralt snorts at his logic, a smile curling his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Comments/kudos/random outbursts highly encouraged and greatly appreciated.


End file.
